


The Last Night

by superbaturalross



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, damaged goods spoilers, spoilers for 14x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 16:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superbaturalross/pseuds/superbaturalross
Summary: Dean and Sam have one last night before....Will they finally admit this thing between them? (timestamp for 14x11 Damaged Goods)





	The Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> Have some incredibly angsty smut. What these boys do the best :) Written for SPN_Kink_Bingo for the Wincest square. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine!

Long fingers grasp the neck of the bottle as he brings it up to his lips, tilting the contents into his mouth, feeling the slight burn as the liquid slides into his stomach. But nothing will fill the gaping emptiness. Nothing.

It’s been hours since he’d promised Dean his worst nightmare. Hours since they’d arrived back at the Bunker. And Sam recollects the events of the day as if they’d happened sometime long ago. They’d officially run out of options and Dean and Michael will sink to the bottom of the ocean.

He sits on the steps, looking out into the reading room, his shoulders weighed down with the weight of the world.

His world.

Dean.

When Dean stood before him his plea clear, Sam couldn’t help but think back to a time that he’d implored for Dean to do the same thing. For Dean, not to understand, but to respect his decision and help him. And though his entreaty wasn’t with the same words.

_I love you for it_

They were implied. They were always implied.

Taking a deep shaking breath, he pulls out his phone. Though Dean’s kept his goodbyes short, he knows he has others to call. Charlie will probably want to know. Rowena. Maggie.

Jack.

Cas.

Sam’s not going to be alone. He knows he’s not going to be alone. He’s got a family now, his own boy, an angelic best friend, a mother. But he’s never needed it. No. He’s only ever needed one thing--one person.

“If you stare any harder that wood’s gonna light on fire,” Dean comments, settling down heavily next to Sam, their shoulders brushing.

Sam ignores the chills running through his body and instead takes another swig of his drink.

“Listen,” Dean begins, and Sam holds his hand up.

He turns to Dean once, their eyes meeting. There’s a magnetic pull and neither of them can glance away from each other. Hazel eyes fix on Green. And in that moment, it’s just them alone again.

No one else.

Probably for the last time in Sam’s life.

Tears begin to prickle the corners of his eyes and he feels one slip down the side of his cheek.

Dean’s gun calloused hand reaches out, gently brushing against his cheek before wiping away the tear with his thumb.

Upon contact, Sam’s eyes close and his breath hitches in his throat. The all too familiar tingle in in his spine shoots through his body, sparking though Dean’s touch.

And their gaze is still fixed on each other. Isolating them from the world.

“ _Sammy,”_ Dean whispers, and it’s like a prayer. Soft.

And more tears rush down Sam’s cheeks.

He never could master Dean’s single perfect tear.   
“How did you do it?” Sam finally asks, looking away. “First time you went to Hell I--” The demon blood. Ruby. He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t have to. Dean knows. He always knows what Sam’s about to say.

Dean looks down at his own bottle, nestled between his knees. Sam’s eyes graze over his face, wondering if Dean’s eyelashes had always been so long, the way they sweep down against his cheek, a delicate fan.

“I didn’t,” Dean says his voice barely above a whisper. “Was livin’ the life you wanted me to live, not--” he pauses. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Lisa and Ben but--I wouldn’ta gone back there on my own. Not without you tellin’ me to have an apple pie life.” He takes a moment to down the rest of his beer. 

Sam takes a deep breath. “I guess it’s easier to be the one dying.” He muses before leaning forward, face tilted away from Dean so he can’t see the freely falling tears.

He feels Dean’s fingertips at his neck, pressing down and slowly massaging the knot at the juncture of his shoulder. Rubbing circles slowly until Sam feels his body begin to relax and melt away into his brother.

Sam closes his eyes, his breathing beginning to even out as he composes himself, slowly leaning to the side until he’s nestled into Dean’s side, his head resting on his brother’s shoulder. Dean’s hand moves across his shoulder to his opposite arm and rests there, fingernails raking over his arm.

He rests his head over Dean’s heart, listening to the familiar beat, his mind flashing through similar moments when they were so much smaller. In Dean’s arms--he felt safe. Like the world could melt away.

But Sam never thought of that feeling as finite. No. He’d taken it for granted that Dean would be there for him.

Without thinking he tilts his head up, meeting Dean’s eyes in an impactful stare. He swallows once, his mouth suddenly devoid of all moisture. His eyes flick to Dean’s lips--wondering if they’d always been that shape. And all he wants to do is taste them, feel how they move against his own.

It’d be so easy for Sam to close the gap between them, to just have tonight before they lose their one chance to forever.

He doesn’t question where the sudden onslaught of feelings came from, though he does take a moment to wonder why he doesn’t question it. (It’s easy. It’s not sudden, and it’s always been an unspoken thing between them.)

So Sam makes the conscious decision to drift closer, and he swears he sees Dean’s head beginning to tilt in his direction when a sharp tug pulls at his chest. A vein of panic. What if Dean doesn’t reciprocate and finds his intentions disgusting?

Sam pulls away at the last second, shifting to the other corner of the stairs.

He shakes his head before looking down at the mouth of the beer bottle. That’s it. He can blame it on his slight intoxication. He’s about to speak up when he turns to look at Dean, almost taken aback at the look in his eyes.

And not for the first time that night, their gazes remain locked together. Sam’s heartbeat increases, and for a moment he’s vaguely worried that Dean will hear his obvious uptick and suspect something. So he coughs to cover the noise. Even though he knows the sound of his heart is inaudible to anyone else.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Dean finally says after a few more beats of awkward silence, bringing his hands down on his legs before standing up.

Sam is snapped out of his reverie and he turns to watch Dean, realizing it’s now or never.

Literally.

“Dean wait,” he says, standing up.

Dean stops, in his tracks, his hands shoved into his pockets. And Sam wants nothing more than to just stop time here. To freeze this moment, the moment before everything changes forever.

This sweet moment when it’s just the two of them in this world with no one else--nothing else. And Sam knows that if he doesn’t move, he’s going to regret it. He’s always going to wonder.

He stalks forward and his fingers close around Dean’s elbow, swinging him around before he crushes his lips down on Dean’s.

There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment frozen where Sam immediately regrets it, picturing Dean’s disgust and revulsion before Dean responds enthusiastically, his hands resting on Sam’s hips as he kisses his brother.

It’s always been just them. No one else. Ever since Sam was a child, he’s never needed anyone else in his life. Not their dad, not Bobby, no one. Only Dean. And his own arms wrap around Dean’s neck, fingertips moving through his short hair.

Their lips part at the same time for a quick breath and then crash together again as they explore each others’ mouths, not fighting for dominance, but entwining, co-existing. Partners. Just as they’ve always been. It’s like they’ve been doing this forever. Just an extension of themselves. And Sam wonders why the hell it took them so long to get to this point.

Here at the end of all things.

When they part, chests heaving, as the two gasp for air, bodies flush against each other. Sam feels Dean’s erection pressing against his. He pushes his hips back, wanting Dean to feel that he’s just as into it as he is.

“Don’t say anything,” Sam whispers, his forehead pressed against Dean’s, his hands cupping Dean’s cheeks. “Please--just… _Dean.”_ It’s a plea and a prayer wrapped up in one. Sam’s placing his heart in Dean’s hands, knowing full well that Dean has the power to crush it. But he trusts him. He trusts him unfailingly with every fiber of his being. His fractured soul yearns for Dean, calls out to him.

“I’ve got you Sammy,” Dean finally says, pulling away from Sam briefly so that he can cup Sam’s cheek, rough thumb sweeping across his cheek, brushing away the falling tear.

Sam’s head tilts to the side as he leans into Dean’s touch.

“I love you too,” He whispers, completing Dean’s declaration. And in response, Dean surges forward to capture his lips in another kiss, hands moving up his side to grip at Sam’s hair.

Sam’s hands stroke up and down Dean’s back, fingertips brushing over the curve of his ass as he explores Dean’s body, finally brushing up over his shoulders, pressing down on Dean’s chest as he begins to unbutton the flannel.

Dean responds in kind, helping Sam out of his shirt, and after a brief moment apart so that they can toss the garments to the side, they meet again in a more passionate embrace, Dean slowly kissing down Sam’s jaw until his lips reach the juncture of Sam’s neck, sucking a mark there, teeth grazing against his pulsepoint.

Sam’s breath hitches in his throat and his fingertips tighten at the base of Dean’s neck, gripping his hair tightly. The tugging seems to egg Dean on into biting harder, sucking bruises into his shoulder. Walking him backwards to the bookshelf and pressing Sam’s back against the books.

His hands drift lower to the hem of Dean’s shirt, fingertips grazing against the small of his back, touching skin, and Sam feels a hunger in his chest, trying to claw out for more. But they’re out in the open--anyone can walk in on them. And though there’s a naughty thrill Sam gets from that thought, he knows that they should probably move this somewhere else. He presses his hands against Dean’s chest and Dean stems his assault on Sam’s neck, his face delightfully flushed.

“We should--bed,” Sam manages, trying to summon up every bit of cognitive ability he has (since most of his blood rushed down to his groin).

Dean nods, his hands playing with the hem of Sam’s shirt. As his fingertips press in the sensitive area around Sam’s hips, underneath his shirt. Sam inhales sharply, his body tightening as his cock throbs in need. “Gonna take such good care of you Sammy,” Dean murmurs, his hands moving up Sam’s sides under the shirt, his trailing fingers leaving lines of heat and fire over Dean’s sides and back.

The only thing Sam can do, is nod in response, his mouth and throat dry. He swallows futilely, trying to muster up the willpower to actually move, but he finds he can’t. His feet are glued to the spot, his gaze permanently locked into Dean’s. “Bed?” He tries again, his voice cracking like it did almost two decades ago.

“Your room or mine?” Dean asks, his eyes bright. His lips are tilted up in a smile. And Sam realizes that Dean’s getting pleasure out of this. Of being able to put a stop to Sam’s overactive mind.

It’s enough to snap Sam into a somewhat sobering reality as he realizes that this is the last time he’s going to be able to have Dean messing with him too. And he closes his eyes, feeling another round of tears beginning to form.

“Hey,” Dean whispers, reaching up to brush the tears away.

And Sam falls into his arms, his head buried in Dean’s neck as he tries to compose himself. “I’m not--I’m not strong enough for this,” he whispers.

“You kidding?” Dean asks, his arms wrapping around Sam’s shoulders as he runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Sammy. You went toe to toe with Lucifer and won. You’ve saved the world so many times. If anyone is strong enough, it’s you.”

Sam shakes his head, his arms twining around Dean’s lower back as he clings tighter to him. “I’m not,” he says softly. “I’m--I can’t lose you. Not again.”

He feels Dean laugh softly as he pulls Sam closely. “C’mere Sammy,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against Sam’s temple. “I got you.”

Sam falls apart in the only arms he’s ever been comfortable falling apart in. He’s eight years old again, his knee, chin, elbows, and hands scraped up when he ate pavement following a bike accident. Dean’s holding him as he sobs pathetically into his arms. And now he can’t even be there for Dean--on the eve of what’s going to be Dean’s own living hell.

Lips press against the crown of his head again, and when he presses his cheek against Dean’s, he feels tears on his brother’s face as well. Taking a deep breath, he leans back to wipe away those tears.

“What’d I say about chick flick moments?” Dean asks, not making eye contact with Sam.

Sam shakes his head and takes a shaking breath before he leans forward to kiss him again, chaste, lips pressing against lips delicately.

Dean presses back before taking a deep breath. “Bitch,” he says.

And Sam can’t help the laugh bubbling up to the surface, his eyes crinkling as he looks at Dean. “Jerk,” he answers.

“You should get some sleep,” Dean says, his voice low, his fingers twining with Sam’s.

“Not even remotely tired,” Sam responds, his heart heavy.

Dean’s eyes meet him, and his gaze is charged again as he steps forward, pressing Sam back against the bookcase as well. “You gonna gimme a night I won’t forget before seein’ me off?” He asks.

As if he’s a soldier going off to war and Sam’s staying behind to defend the homefront.

Which, in a way, isn’t inaccurate.

Sam’s chest tightens as he nods, pressing his forehead to Dean’s. “Yeah--you know it,” he says, his voice low, gruff.

“Yeah well…” Dean trails off as he slots their legs together, and Sam feels his erection press against his own and his hips jerk forward in response. “Gonna take such good care of you Sammy,” Dean whispers as he presses kisses to Sam’s collarbone. “You’ve always been there for me,” he murmurs pressing more kisses to Sam’s exposed skin.

Sam fists his hands into Dean’s t-shirt, rutting against Dean, the denim of his pants causing almost painful friction. His hands drift down to Dean’s back pockets and he grips two handfuls of ass as he pushes their pelvises harder together.

“Cas might walk in,” Sam hisses.

And that stops Dean. He pulls back, his pupils blown, panting for breath.

Sam sees the deeper red his body flushes and he takes his advantage, turning them around so Dean is pressed against the bookcase with an _oof. “_ You like that?” Sam asks, hungrily eying Dean up and down.

Dean responds with a growl, fisting his hands into Sam’s shirt before he pulls him forward in a searing kiss, his tongue pressing against the seam of Sam’s lips in response.

He’s immediately granted entrance and he continues kissing and exploring, tasting. Sam yields for him and Dean smirks into the kiss, a huff of a laugh escaping his lips. He pushes Sam back and licks his own plump kissed lips and tilts his head towards the bedrooms. “C’mon,” he murmurs.

Sam turns and walks towards the stairs, letting out an indignant yelp when he feels Dean bring his hand down on his ass.

“Dude!” He hisses.

Dean glances around before he looks at Sam, pointing at himself as if he’s aghast Sam would make such an accusation.

Sam’s expression narrows into a glare and Dean responds by laughing and playfully shoving Sam’s shoulder.

“Jerk,” Sam hisses.

“Bitch,” Dean responds, lacing his fingers together with Sam’s. “Say one word and I’ll let go,” Dean warns.

So Sam doesn’t. He looks down at their joined hands—a flood of memories rising to the surface. And his heart feels so heavy it could burst. But he pushes down that thought for now.

No sense wasting their one night left with Dean left to be his caretaker, like he always is.  

As if he knows what Sam is thinking, and Sam doesn’t ever doubt that fact, Dean squeezes his hand and lifts it up, pressing a kiss to Sam’s knuckles, his eyes fixed on his brother’s.

And with that, Sam swings open his own door and pulls Dean into his room, pushing him back against the door as he kisses him. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, pressing kisses along the column of Dean’s neck when the door clicks shut. “Always taking care of me. You’ve had to be so strong. Lemme take care of you now,” Sam whispers. “It’s my turn.”

Dean whines in response, their legs slotting together as he’s pressing his hips to Sam’s, erection against Sam’s thigh.

Sam grins in response, framing Dean’s face as he kisses him.

He walks backwards to the bed before dipping down, helping Dean down onto his lap, legs straddling his. Sam trails his fingertips up Dean’s thighs to his ass before he squeezes again, continuing to kiss him, pouring everything he’s ever wanted to express to Dean into the kiss.

They’ve been together for thirty five years. Sam begins and ends with Dean--and he knows that goodbye will mean a part of him dies too. So he keeps pressing his body into Dean’s, fingertips brushing up and down his back before grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and pulling up, stopping to do the same with his own shirt.

He pulls back from the kiss, gasping for air as he takes in Dean’s slender frame, the freckles dusted across his chest and shoulders, committing this to memory. He’s seen his brother naked so many times, but it feels like a first. Where they’re stripped of their defenses, able to be with each other, purely, wholly.

“What?” Dean asks, chest and cheeks tinged with pink.

Sam tilts his chin up and keeps his gaze fixed on green eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

Dean immediately flusters, pink turning into red as he shakes his head. “Nuh uh--you take that back.” He says.

Sam laughs before flipping both of them over, grinding his hips down into Dean’s erection. “Never,” he murmurs, kissing down Dean’s collarbone, whispering _beautiful_ every other kiss, worshipping every inch of his skin.

He’s felt unclean, impure, his entire life, afraid that if he’d ever act on these feelings, he’d bring his brother down into the inky black depths of his soul. But Dean--Dean’s purity, his light kept Sam afloat. It lets him breath, and for the first time, he’s not drowning.

Sam drifts lower until he’s working the button of his jeans open, pulling them down along with Dean’s boxers. He pauses briefly to take off his own pants and underwear, tossing the garments to the side before he groans, sliding forward and pressing their groins together, unclothed dicks touching each other. He leans down and presses kisses to Dean’s collarbone, his neck, up his jaw, before pressing their lips together again.

Dean’s fingertips trail up Sam’s legs, pushing down into the meat of his ass as Sam gasps into his mouth, his cock throbbing in response as he thrusts up against Dean’s, their lower bellies a mess of precome.

Snaking a hand between them, Dean wraps his hand around both their cocks, pressing them together as he jerks them off. Sam thrusts into his hand before groaning, his own hand drifting down to join Dean’s, working both of their cocks. They’re both close.

Sam’s hips stutter as he comes, wet and sticky over both of their bellies, Dean following soon after. He rests his forehead against his brother’s and laughs, pulling him in for a kiss before rolling over.

“Man...I haven’t creamed that quickly since Roxie--” Dean says, as Sam tries to fight the looming anxiety growing as every single second ticks closer to the moment they’ll have to say goodbye. “Sammy,” he says, a laugh bubbling up in the back of his throat as he rolls over and brackets Sam like he’s just a kid again.

Sam’s eyes meet Dean’s and the corners of his lips quiver into an uneasy smile as he’s reminded of when Dean used to wake him up from nightmares, protecting Sam from the world, protecting him within his body. Nothing could ever hurt him when Dean was around. When he’s with Dean, he can take on the world.

And now? He’s facing the growing reality that he’s going to be facing the world alone. Without his partner. His other half.

“Don’t do this,” Dean whispers, pressing soft kisses into Sam’s neck. “I don’t--want my last memories to be--”

Sam closes his eyes, sorrow bubbling up as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Can’t help it,” he says softly.

“Maybe I can help you forget,” Dean says, looking up, resting his chin on Sam’s chest.

Sam tilts his head. “Yeah?” He asks, furiously scrubbing his cheeks.

Dean nods in the affirmative before he sits back on his heels, moving Sam’s legs on either side of his knees. He leans down and wraps his lips around the tip of his cock and Sam watches as he swallows him down, his cock immediately springing to attention.

It’s amazing, like he’s a teenager again and he’s got multiple rounds. He rakes his fingers through Dean’s hair, gently moving with his head and watching the line of his cock against Dean’s hollowed out cheeks, committing this moment to a part of his memory he’ll keep forever.

He almost backs up in surprise when he feels Dean’s finger circle around his hole and he almost slams his legs shut. But thankfully he doesn’t and he feels the dry tip of Dean’s finger slowly move in, massaging around the rim before Dean pulls off of his cock. With a mischievous smirk, he pulls Sam’s legs apart further and leans down, dragging his tongue along the furled rim, licking inside as he uses his tongue to get Sam relaxed.

Sam keens and moans, his head slamming back against the headboard as he relaxes into the touch.

“Lube?” Dean manages to grunt out, his head buried between Sam’s cheeks.

“Top drawer,” Sam grits out.

“Got my hands a little full here Sammy,” Dean says as he inserts a spit slicked finger into Sam’s entrance.

Sam reaches out, patting the drawer until he finds the handle, pulling it out and grabbing a bottle of KY. He tosses it in the direction of Dean’s head, wincing when he hears the thunk of the bottle landing smack against his forehead.

When Sam peeks up, Dean’s rubbing his forehead while giving Sam _that look_ , pressing his lips together. “Really Sammy?” He asks, grabbing the bottle and uncapping the top.

“‘S not my fault you couldn’t catch it.”

“Kinda ruinin’ the lil moment we got goin’ on here,” Dean responds, voice thick with a drawl that only comes out when he’s this aroused. “Jus’ sayin’”

Sam replies with a playful smile that makes Dean surge up to kiss him, brushing a lock of hair tenderly behind his ear. “Little shit,” he murmurs before sitting back, slowly pulling his finger out, leaving Sam feeling empty, wanting more.

He drizzles lube over two of his fingers before circling Sam’s entrance, pressing in until the muscle relaxes around his touch, pressing against his walls, scissoring as he opens him up.

A groan escapes Sam’s lips as he relaxes around Dean’s fingers, arching his head back against the headboard, his fingers fisting the sheets around him.

Moments later, he feels empty, whining at the loss of Dean when he feels the slicked head of his cock against his entrance. He groans trying to relax as Dean breaches his entrance, slowly pushing forward until he’s bottomed out completely.   
When Sam feels Dean’s hips against his ass, he opens his eyes, rewarded by the sight of the two of them joined. As one.

Shuddering, he leans forward and pulls Dean into a kiss, flipping them around so he’s straddling his brother. Dean’s eyes are hooded, dark, green irises a thin ring around his dark pupils. Dean presses his fingertips into Sam’s thighs and Sam shudders as he rocks his hips forward, circling them as he rides Dean.

“Not gonna last long like this Sammy,” Dean grunts, and Sam smiles, losing himself in the moment, not thinking about the trip they’re going to take. Not thinking about the destination.

For now, this is the only destination he’s ever needed.

“I love you,” he says as he rocks up and down on Dean’s length.

Dean’s eyes are unfocused and Sam smiles, a surge of pride racing through him. He did this.

He circles his hips again, groaning as Dean’s cock hits his prostate at the perfect angle and he groans, spilling on both their chests. With a stutter of his hips, Dean comes, buried deep inside Sam.

Allowing a moment to collect themselves, Sam presses his hand into Dean’s chest, bracing his body, pulling off of him and landing next to Dean on the bed. He smiles through his curtain of hair. Dean laughs and reaches up to tuck it behind his ears, his hands framing Sam’s face.

They remain like that, frozen in time. A moment in eternity. Just the two of them in the world.

_“I love you too Sammy.”_


End file.
